Deep in thought, Harriet walked on, barely noticing her surroundings until she reached the junction of Swannaton and Above Town. Decision time. Fingering the key in her pocket, she stood looking up at the short steep incline that was the beginning of Swannaton. How many times in the past had she breathlessly pushed Ellie in her stroller up there to reach Aunt Amy’s house a hundred yards or so further on from where she stood now? Did she want to re-trace those footsteps today? On her own? Without the support of Frank? So many memories would surface. Memories that were hers alone – her life before Frank. It would be better to face them privately. But not today, Harriet decided, turning resolutely on to the Above Town road. The implications of the legacy were enough to think about for now, without adding sentimental nostalgia into the mix. Easier to think straight, plan how she was going to convince Frank that refusing to accept Amy’s inheritance was the right thing to do, without the complication of remembering how happy she’d once been when the house had been a part of her life.
Walking back into town along the narrow road, Harriet tried to marshal her thoughts into a logical order, the way she’d point them out to Frank. The main stipulation of the legacy that she must live in the house for a year would be the real deal-breaker with Frank, she was sure. No way would he countenance giving up his own home, even temporarily. It was too convenient for work, the golf club and, after twenty years, he’d finally got the garden the way he wanted.
Harriet took a deep breath as she approached the Crowthers Hill junction. Who was she trying to kid that, so long as Frank agreed with refusing the legacy, everything would be fine. Deep down, she knew it was really Ellie, the daughter she’d give her life for, who was at the root of the biggest moral and guilt-induced headache that was beginning to throb in her head.
‘Good god! I don’t believe it. Tatty?’ A woman running down to the junction stopped and stared in amazement at her.
Harriet herself forced to stop to avoid bumping into the woman, looked at her equally surprised.
‘Beeny?’
‘Yes.’ The woman threw her arms around Harriet and hugged her. ‘God, it’s so good to see you.’
‘You too,’ Harriet said, returning the hug.
‘Are you on holiday? We must meet. Catch up.’
‘Lots of catching up to do,’ Harriet said ruefully.
‘Come to supper tonight. Six doors up on the right. Scarlet front door. Seven o’clock.’
Harriet hesitated before smiling and saying ‘Just you and me? OKAY. But please don’t mention to anyone that you’ve bumped into me.’
‘Promise. Have to dash, I’m already late,’ Sabine said. ‘See you later.’
‘Look forward to it,’ Harriet said as Sabine waved and ran on down the hill.
CHAPTER EIGHT
SABINE / HARRIET
Late afternoon and Sabine was closing up the kiosk when Owen arrived.
‘Any chance of a coffee? Been checking the moorings and boy is it cold out on the river. I’m in desperate need of a warm drink.’
‘You’ll have to make it yourself and finishing locking up for me,’ Sabine said. ‘Need to get home early tonight.’
‘Doing something special?’
‘Just supper with a friend,’ Sabine said.
‘Anyone I know?’
Sabine shook her head. ‘Sorry, I’ve been sworn to secrecy. See you tomorrow.’
Walking home, Sabine wondered why Harriet had made her promise not to tell anyone she was back in town. She must realise no one would give a tinker’s cuss these days about the past scandal. Too many present-day ones to gossip about. Besides, the town was full of incomers nowadays, who had no idea what had happened thirty years ago.
Harriet, as Sabine had known she would be, was early.
‘Still, “Mrs Can’t Bear to be Late”, then?’ she teased as she led the way up to the studio. Harriet’s obsession with getting to places early and hers for never being on time anywhere, had always been a joke between them.
‘Judging by the way you were running when we met earlier, I bet you still get to places late more often than on time,’ Harriet said.
Sabine laughed. ‘True.’
‘Oh what a lovely room,’ Harriet said as she walked into the studio. ‘Are these paintings yours? Is that what you are into these days?’
Sabine nodded. ‘Spend all my free time painting. Got my first exhibition coming up in May.’
‘Brilliant! What time will Dave be home?’ Harriet asked. ‘I can’t wait to see him again.’
Sabine stilled before saying quietly. ‘Dave died. Fourteen years ago.’
‘Beeny, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know.’
‘Amy didn’t tell you?’
‘You weren’t the only one I lost contact with when I left,’ Harriet said quietly. ‘There’s been a thirty-year moratorium on news from here.’
Sabine looked at her. ‘Oh, Tatty. That’s so sad.’
‘No-one’s called me Tatty in all that time,’ Harriet said.
‘Drink. We need a drink,’ Sabine said. ‘I’ll be back in two ticks. Then I’ll attempt to fill you in with things.’
Harriet was looking at the photos pinned to the beams when Sabine returned with wine and some nibbles.
‘You have a son?’ she asked, pointing to one of Sabine cuddling a toddler.
‘Yep that’s Peter. Twenty now.’
‘Ten years younger than Ellie then.’
‘How is Ellie? Can’t believe that cute toddler bridesmaid at my wedding is all grown up.’
‘She’s fine. Trained as a journalist and works for one of the large media companies. She’s not married but lives with Rod.’ Harriet pulled a face. ‘We feel sure she could do better than him but, hey, when did any of us ever choose the partner our parents wanted?’
‘We?’
‘Frank, my husband. He adopted Ellie when she was three. Loves her to bits.’
Harriet took the glass of wine Sabine had poured her. ‘Have you re-married?’
Sabine shook her head. ‘No. Owen keeps asking me but …’ she shrugged.
‘Owen as in Owen Hutchinson?’
‘That’s the one. I work for him these days, managing the booking kiosk on the quay for river trips.’
‘I passed there earlier this morning. Didn’t see you – there were lots of people drinking coffee and eating buns.’
‘Impromptu meeting of the Save the Kiosk group. Council want to do away with it,’ Sabine said. ‘Make us use an office somewhere else on the quay.’ She took a sip of wine. ‘So, catch-up time. Papa died shortly after you left. Johnnie is a widower. His Annie died two years ago. Owen’s never married but regards Peter as his son. Gus is back from making his fortune.’
‘And did he?’ Harriet asked.
‘Seems like it. Something to do with computers that went viral. He picked up a glossy wife too, somewhere along the way. These days he’s running a boat agency selling floating gin palaces. You’ll have to get him to show you around one. I gather his selling technique involves lots of champagne with a trip round the bay,’ Sabine said.
‘Haven’t been on a boat since I left here.’ Harriet picked up a handful of nuts from the dish Sabine had brought up with the wine. ‘I had a nostalgic wander around town yesterday. Things have changed so little, I could almost believe I’d never left.’
The doorbell rang. ‘That’ll be dinner,’ Sabine said. ‘One of the posh restaurants in town does a home delivery service for special occasions. Champagne’s in the fridge downstairs. Can you open it while I get dinner?’
‘Right, fill me in on your life,’ Sabine said as she placed a plate of French charcuterie on the table alongside a basket containing a baguette. The aroma from the garlic sausage, the mushroom pâté and mounds of black and green olives made Harriet realise how hungry she was.
‘How did you survive after you left here? Where did you meet Frank?’ Sabine asked as they began to eat.
‘With difficulty,’ Harriet said, re
membering those first despairing months of being on her own with Ellie. ‘I rented a small cottage in the wilds of West Wales. It was pretty bleak. I couldn’t work because of Ellie so we didn’t have a lot to live on. When she went to nursery school I managed to get a part-time job in a little boutique and things became a bit easier.’
‘What about Oscar? Didn’t he contribute?’
Harriet shook her head. ‘He didn’t know where we were, any more than I knew where he was. I didn’t want any contact with him. It was Ellie and me against the world. Until I met Frank, who has loved and looked after us both ever since.’
‘So what are you doing in town now? Is Frank with you? Do I get to meet him?’
‘Not this visit. Maybe if I come down again,’ Harriet paused. ‘Trevor Bagshawe tracked me down and summoned me to a meeting. Amy has apparently left Ellie and me her Swannaton house. That’s classified information, by the way,’ she said. ‘No-one else knows.’
‘Apparently?’
‘There’s a certain clause that I have to agree to before it becomes official.’ Harriet swallowed a large mouthful of her champagne. ‘I’ll give you three guesses what it is.’
‘Amy wants you to … to swim the Dart naked.’
Harriet giggled. ‘No, Beeny, don’t be daft.’
‘OK. You have to … take up hang-gliding. No?’ Sabine topped up both their glasses. ‘I’ve really no idea.’
‘One last guess,’ Harriet said.
‘I know. You have to give up drink. That might be hard but not impossible.’
Harriet shook her head. ‘Much harder than that. I have to promise to come and live in the house for a year,’ she said quietly.
‘Really? That’s the clause? But why is that impossible?’
Harriet looked at her wide-eyed. ‘Come back after what happened? Be a laughing stock again? No thanks.’
‘You weren’t a laughing stock – I felt for you and other people did too. If it’s any consolation, I made life as difficult as I could for the bitch before they left town too.’
‘Still don’t think it’s a good idea to come back,’ Harriet said.
‘Tatty, the world has moved on. Besides, nobody cares about old scandals.’
‘I do. I was the one who had to live through it. And any of our friends – like Owen and Gus – who still live in town, they’ll remember.’
Sabine sighed. ‘But it’s so different these days. People have affairs all the time. Steal other people’s husbands. It’s not right, but it happens. People simply shrug and look the other way.’ She was quiet for a moment before saying. ‘I was tempted to do it myself once.’
CHAPTER NINE
HARRIET
At Sabine’s insistence, Harriet walked out to Amy’s house the next morning.
‘I’d come with you,’ Sabine had said, ‘but I think it’s better if you go on your own for the first time. Bound to be emotional and you can indulge in private. Take tissues!’
Now, as she pushed open the driveway gate, Harriet felt the memories beginning to stir. Shrubs that hadn’t been pruned for months snatched at her clothes as she walked towards the front door. Sad to see the garden so neglected when Amy had been such a keen gardener. The heavy wooden front door needed a big push to persuade it to open after Harriet had inserted and turned the key.
As she walked into the hallway, she half expected to be accosted by the smell of baking scones, a hint of beeswax on the highly polished hall-stand and Bonnie, Amy’s springer spaniel, barking a mad welcome. Instead, silence and dusty furniture greeted her while a musty smell assailed her nostrils, a few letters and junk mail lay on the doormat.
The door to the room on the right Harriet remembered being used as a spare bedroom was ajar and Harriet pushed it open further to take a quick look inside. Bedroom furniture had been banished. Instead, a flat screen Apple computer dominated a desk placed under the far window overlooking the side garden, a high-backed office chair pushed to one side in front of it. A stack of manila folders was on the right-hand side of the desk. The bookcase running down the length of the left wall was crammed with books, both classics and modern and several of Harriet’ s own favourite authors like Veronica Henry, Katie Fforde and lots of Cassandra James, one of Harriet’s favourite authors.
Idly, Harriet took one she hadn’t read off the shelf and thumbed slowly through it. More books were piled on the floor. Against the other wall the old fashioned roll-top desk that Harriet remembered Amy inheriting from her father was closed. Strange, Amy had never had an office in the old days.
Harriet turned and walked the few steps to the entrance of the small winter sitting room. This was much as she remembered it. Two winged armchairs, a two-seater leather Chesterfield, all facing the small open fireplace, a sheepskin rug in front. More full bookshelves, a side table or two – one with a silver tray, a decanter half full with sherry, another with whisky and three glasses. Family photos lined the mantelpiece.
Ellie in Amy’s arms at her christening, dressed in the long lace dress handed down through the family. A picture of herself with a baby Ellie in her arms sitting out in the garden. Another had Ellie sleeping peacefully in her pram. A black and white faded one of Amy’s parents. Ellie’s grandparents, whom she’d never had the chance to truly bond with.
Thoughtfully, Harriet picked up one of the silver framed photos. A smiling Ellie in her bridesmaid dress for Sabine’s wedding. A mere eighteen months old, she’d been so good on that day. The mantelpiece was a time warp of her and Ellie’s long-ago life. Guiltily, she replaced the photo.
Amy had truly adored Ellie and the rift was in no way her fault. She hadn’t been her brother’s keeper. By cutting contact with her, Harriet knew she was guilty of punishing the wrong person. And now it was too late to make amends.
Smothering a sigh, Harriet moved towards the main summer sitting room. This room, with its huge sliding windows, overlooking the terrace and the mouth of the river, was light and airy. Tentatively Harriet ran her fingers over the keys of the baby grand piano positioned in the corner and in front of the side window so the pianist had an inspiring view up river. She’d always loved this room. Ellie had taken her very first steps on the ancient carpet that still covered the wooden floorboards. She’d spent so much time in this house when she and Amy had been family.
It was when she walked into the large farmhouse-style kitchen that the tears finally started and she frantically searched for a tissue. It was all still so familiar.
The large Aga cooker, the pine table where eight or ten of them would gather for one of Amy’s delicious suppers and put the world to rights fuelled by a couple of bottles of wine. The dresser filled with Amy’s collection of blue and white china. Surely any moment now, Amy herself would open the back door and come in, her gardening trug filled with vegetables, urging everyone to stay for lunch.
Taking the letter the solicitor had given her out of her pocket, Harriet pulled out one of the wheel-backed chairs and sat at the table. Had saving this to read here been a good idea? Perhaps reading it somewhere neutral would be better. Or even waiting for Frank and opening it together. No. It was her past that was involved. A time when Frank hadn’t been around to protect and look after her.
Carefully she opened the envelope. Maybe it would explain things. Tell her where the money for the huge legacy had come from for instance. More importantly, explain why Amy had made the bequest.
My dearest Harriet,
Sadly we’ve not seen each other for many years but I’ve thought of you so often. You and Ellie. I hope you were able to re-build your life and eventually find happiness again. I wish you had felt able to keep in contact but do understand your reasons for severing your old life completely from the new one you were forced to face. From the day you married my brother, you became my family. In all the years, I have never thought of you as anything other than my sister-in-law.
I know Trevor Bagshawe will have explained my wishes to you and your initial response will probably be
to shout NO, NO, but please think about it carefully before you decide to turn my legacy down. It is my way of making up for all the hurt you suffered at the hands of my family all those years ago. Money does not equate happiness, I am well aware, but it does provide opportunities that would otherwise be impossible. I hope it will give Ellie the chance to explore and live her life to the full.
It is not my intention to cause you more distress, but I very much long for Ellie to know her true family origins. I dreamt for years of seeing you and Ellie happy in this house again.
With much love,
Amy
Harriet’s skin tingled as she read the letter. Inside her head, Amy’s soft Devonshire voice was saying the words as she read them. The tears were falling freely as she finished reading and she searched in her bag for another tissue. She’d hurt Amy more than she’d ever realised with her determination to sever all contact with the family and the town. Amy had written to her about six months after the scandal broke, asking her to keep in touch, but she hadn’t replied. Being genuinely fond of Amy, she’d longed to but, in the end, the need for a completely new life had won and she’d torn the letter up.
The chair scraped across the floor tiles as Harriet stood up and pushed it back. Sitting here in Amy’s kitchen on her own was unnerving. All those long-ago feelings of hurt, uncertainty, guilt – oh the guilt – were flooding back.
She’d seen enough for today. She’d come back with Frank. She folded the letter back into the envelope and placed it in her bag. No information there about where the money had come from. Maybe Amy won the Lotto or something. Investments? No way of knowing. Simply that she wanted Ellie to have it.
The Little Kiosk By The Sea Page 5